The Race
by The Shrubbery
Summary: Being Apple Picked is a glory. It is the present of being the last to volunteer. Then you get to Race. Race to the Feast. Kandy Vanillabean is an idiot with friends who speak Wizbangish and Rapper-Southern-Wannabe-nese. This is her story. Parody of THG.


**Kandy Vanillabean. Ta-Pee Mallchop. "Nighting-Gale" Hawk-corn. Poisonivy Vanillabean. Mabel Underwear. Harvey Abraham. Ethel Tanktop. All these ridiculous characters and more in... The Race...**

**Disclaimer: We still don't own The Hunger Games, but we do own this rather strange parody. :P Please enjoy, and review!**

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When I wake up, the other side of the trampoline is cold. Although I'm not sure how I know that. Because I don't have a trampoline anyway and trampolines are huge anyway and I'm numb in my cells anyway. I walk out of bed to the edge of my cell. Locked. My mother keeps me in a jail cell, in the community jail so she can spend more time with my sister, Poisonivy (Ivy for short). I reach into my hair. The lice scream in protest, but eventually I find a hairpin. I twiddle with the cheap locks, and I'm out.

I look around, it's filthy - naturally. Nighting-Gale is next to me with puckered up lips. I pucker up mine and we kiss each other on both cheeks pretendly - like they did in Past France (now called Olaf). Without a word, we walk out of the jail. Both the guards are asleep, so it's not as hard as it sounds. We're in the town. We walk up to the entrance of the Happyvill Hunting Reserve, and check in with the desk-lady (who's actually a man). She (er, he) has on purple lipstick and asks us for the key.

"What key?" Night Gale (that's what I call him for short) says. He says everything with a question mark. I wish I could do that. I speak in plain old, boring Panemese. He speaks Wizbangish.

"No key," says the desk desk-lady-man. "I was kidding. Come on in!"

I laugh politely at the joke and we walk into the reserve. I pass some kindergartners with toys bows, trying to hit the targets. I envy them. Now that I'm in high school, we need to hit _moving_ targets! Can you believe it? _Moving_ targets! That's ridiculous! Only Night Gale can even look at the assignment without fainting right on the spot! He faints after two seconds! He's so brave. Anyway, we attempt to climb an apple tree. After 23 tries we give up, and take a few rotten ones off the ground. I remember to take some home for Ivy and Mom, but then I forget and keep eating.

"Why Kandy?" exclaims Night Gale. "I believe you are actually fat?"

"No I'm not!" I protest.

"Yeah, you're right?" he says. "Must've been a trick of the light?" I "duh". Of course! There is no such thing as a _fat_ me, or even a _skinny_ me. I'm _me_. Kandy Vanillabean. Proud of it - sort of. I mean Mabel Underwear has a better name. But I'll never admit it - that is, unless I get Apple Picked.

I'm thinking about getting Apple Picked before Mabel, my second bestest friend, comes up to me and gives a goofy smile. She loves doing that - that awesome goofy smile. _I_ only have a _Mickey_ smile. Talk about embarrassing!

"Yo, yo, yo!" Mabel exclaims. "Wassup, Night Gale, Candy?" she asks us. "How ya doin'? Eatin' apples for the Pickings? Well, lemme have some! I love sharin' apples with meh homies!" she exclaims in her southern-rapper-wannabe voice. Then she joins our rotten apple fest.

Then I see _her_. In a purple, dare I say it is my favorite color, dress with frilly things hanging on the edge and Capitol_ Channelle _purse, bag, skirt (even though she's in a dress), make-up, et eh kuh. It was poison ivy. I mean, Poisonivy, my sister.

"Oh, hi," I say stupidly. Why did I say HI? I mean, of all things, I say "hi!" Can you believe it? I'm so silly sometimes.

"Hello, Kandy," she says. She purses her lips at me, as if saying my name is bad luck. She sits down on an expensive lawn chair she brought with her - Ivy wouldn't _dare_ sit down on grass. "So," she says. "What are you guys doing?" Ivy is sooooo annoying. She always acts like she's the mature one (which, of course, is true) _but still!_

"We're eating APP-UHLES!" Night Gale says sweetly. He likes her. Just about everybody likes her. Nighting Gale, Ta Pee, Mabel...Me, even. I'm a little bit sad that Night Gale likes her because _I_ like him - sort of. Ish. Nah, not really. It's just going to be really weird if my little sister and my best friend were dating. Once that happened, in my dreams. It was weird, but good at the same time because I got to eat a loooot of yogurt pudding. And I _love_ yogurt pudding.

"Oh," Ivy says equally as stupid as I did, except she did it with flair. I can't pull that off: stupid with flair. It's just too hard.

"So, man, what ya wanna do?" Mabel says.

"I'm a woman!" Ivy says. "Anyway, I don't want to eat apples with you guys. Mom just wanted to know where Kandy was." I groan. "She's _really_ mad at you for breaking out of jail again," Ivy adds. "She wants you home by 10 AM." Then Poisonivy turns around and flounces away, her little frills going up and down. I look at Mabel's mockingzard watch. 10:05. Oh well. Since I'm already late, there's no point in rushing home. I look at Mabel's mockingzard watch again. She's, like, _obsessed_ with mockingzards. I don't even know what the are. They're like mutant planes or something. But since planes aren't animals, I can't see how they can be mutants. Then again, I'm not all that smart so I should just shut my mouth and go with the flow...which naturally is an oxymoron. But I always stick to my word so...

"Thmphestm mphernph phiadlmed!" I muffle through my closed mouth. Mabel looks at me with disgust.

"How rude! I refuse to be called a walking pencil-lady?" Night Gale exclaimed.

"I gotta head home," I say. "Seeya at the Apple Pickings! And remember, bring me an apple home if you get Picked!" I remind them. They promise they will, and I bunny-hop home, just because I feel like it. When I get home, Ivy looks smug, and Mom blows her fuse.

"KANDY CARAMEL VANILLABEAN! YOU SAID YOU'D BE HOME BY TEN! I TOLD YOU TO BE HOME BY TEN! WHY WEREN'T YOU HOME BY TEN? YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN HOME BY TEN! I'M TELLING YOU, KANDY, YOU NEED TO OBEY MY ORDERS, OR I SWEAR, YOU'LL REALLY BE IN FOR IT! WHAT WERE YOU DOING THIS TIME? DATING YOUR LITTLE BOYFRIEND, NIGHT GALE? HMM? HMM? ANSWER ME, THIS INSTANT! 16 IS WAY TOO YOUNG! AND IVY SAYS YOU SNUCK OUT OF JAIL! THAT'S A BAD HABIT, YOUNG LADY! DO YOU HEAR ME? OR DO I NEED TO SAY I LOUDER? LOUDER, I SAY, LOUDER! I'LL SAY IT LOUDER BUT IF YOU DON'T LISTEN THERE WON'T BE ANY POINT TO SAYING LOUDER BUT I'LL STILL SAY IT LOUD! YOU HEAR ME? LOUD! LOUD AND PROUD! YOU ARE GROUNDED FROM THE WII, EVEN THOUGH WE DON'T OWN ONE! GROUNDED! PUT YOU'RE HEAD DOWN IN SHAME, BECAUSE YOU ARE GROUNDED! UNTILL YOU TURN 17! AND I HOPE YOU DON'T GET PICKED, BECAUSE YOU DON'T DESERVE IT! SO THERE!" Mom finally finishes her shouting. It was rather embarrassing, because we got several calls from the neighbors to turn the TV down. Even though we don't have one.

Ivy grins from behind Mom. It's not one of those "it's all right don't be sad I'll let you play the Wii even though we don't have one" it's one of those "haha loser take that and take the stupid imaginary TV and Wii" smiles. I don't like those. Preferably because they're way too specific.

"Ugh, anyway, my darling Ivy, won't you go up and change into the new popular _Channelle_ pink tutu I got a few seconds ago? It took a few years' of school tuition fees away from _Kandy_'s bank account though. I don't really care." I pout. "But anyway, darling, go up to your super big, ultra purple, wholly yours upstairs and we'll just stay down here." Mom gives Ivy a sweet smile that I know is definitely poisoned. She goes upstairs to a fully dedicated Ivy-place. There are ten rooms and all of are Ivy's. There's the make-up, sleeping, clothing, studying, gossiping, another make-up, bath/spa, eating, trampoline/bungee-jumping, and of course, the cupcake-room. It's ridiculous, just like Ivy. I can't go to school, get a paid job, or rob my (hopefully) rich future husband's money for my whole life-time. And I wanted to feel the thrill of stolen bonds. Sigh.

I slip into the "room" that I sleep in. Its a closet, a relatively nice walk-in, mind you, but it doesn't change the fact I sleep in a closet. I but on my Apple Picking outfit. It had once belonged to my Mom, when she was my age. She says it's a joy to be able to wear clothes that were once worn by her, but I know better. If there was anything joyful about it, she'd let Ivy do it. Ivy's Apple Picking outfit is brand-new and _adorable_. My outfit? it's just a simple black dress with a white sash and bow, with some unidentifiable stains on it. Yuck. It makes me not even want to get Picked. Almost. I mean, imagine appearing on television with _that_ on! My mom would never forgive me.

I strip and put on the dress. Then I smear on some of the left-over make-up Ivy threw away and when I make my appearance...I am satisfied. Sure, I was on the plump side - but a little fat never hurt anyone did it?

I walk out of my "room" and see Ivy and Mom chattering endlessly on how beautiful Ivy is. I don't mind, it's always like this on Apple Picking Day. I put on the wear-me-downs from someone younger than me, listen about the lectures of how amazing Ivy is, then walk with town pretending to be BSF (Best Sisters Forever) for Mom. Her reputation is tough to keep up. I'm supposed to be the plain, hopelessly lost older sister while Ivy is the beautiful, savvy, loving little sis that is supposed to help me all the times. 'Course that'd never happen...

Above, I can see from afar that Ivy truly is a beautiful girl. Maybe if she'd fix up that personality of hers, I might actually like her! Her silky brown hair fall on her already-hit-puberty breasts (they're larger than mine!) and her slender figure with all the curves in the right areas. I find myself blushing at that. Who thinks about their sister's _curves_? Oh well, me. Whatever. Sigh.

"Oh," Ivy says as her lips curl into a sneer, "it's _you_."

"Yes, it's _me_," I reply with a grin. Ivy groans.

"Seriously, can't you shut up when people talk to you? I wasn't even _finished_." Ivy flips her shiny hair in disgust. "Look, Mom says she's deciding to stay home with our cat, Margerine-Mug, while we two go to the Apple Pickings. I don't like it, but she says it'll help her rep and she'll make more money for the new shoes I want." She points to her feet. I look at it. On them are two glamorous, sparkly high-heels that are reeeeeally high. Like, 6 foot high kind of high. I look at mine. I have a pair of worn, leather boots. One of them has stitches.

"Uhh..." Ivy says, grossed out by my looks and just generally surprised that anyone could look that bad. I don't blame her. I, myself, think I'm a pretty ugly girl. I'd like to think more optimistically though - I'm not a pretty ugly girl, I'm an ugly pretty girl. And I have a sister who's a pretty pretty girl. Dagnabbit.

"Okay then? Shall we go off?" I ask, bowing to exaggerate that Ivy is such a princess.

"No," Ivy says. "Not until I say good-bye to all my pets." I scowl. Ivy has a _million_ pets. I swear, she has every animal on the planet! In the universe! The galaxy! Even _in our plaza_! Squeal! She has a cat, a turtle, a dog, a rabbit, a bunny, a snake, a lizard, a gizzard, a caterpillar, a frog, another cat, a fly, a tarantula, et eh kuh.

"Fine," I say nicely, but Ivy doesn't notice. She never notices. I never quite notice what she doesn't notice anyway. Whatever.

Our Munchkin-Siamese-Maine Coon cat, Margerine-Mug (M.M. for short), lounges around excitedly and when she sees me she nudges affectionately. M.M. loves me and Ivy hates that. Ivy also wants to be the center of attention, especially from her favorite pet. M.M. hates Ivy. M.M. always avoids her. I can't blame her. I'd avoid Ivy, too, if my mom wasn't so obsessed with our loving-sisters reputation. After another hour, Ivy comes down from her pet room, and declares she has said goodbye to all her pets.

We walk down to the plaza, me leading the way for the sake of my big-sister rep that Mom wants me to have. I smile, and wave at the crowd, like I saw a movie-star doing on television. Nobody pays any attention to me, but I'm used to that. Usually, when people look at me, it's because I look weird, not good. I see our Apple Picker, Ethel Tanktop on the mayor's balcony. Did I mention the Mabel is the mayor's daughter? Well, she is.

Mayor Underwear reads the story of Pamen. "_So, we are gathered here in remembrance of the Rebellion. The Capitol lost, but the Districts decided they relied to much on the Capitol too get rid of them completely. So they didn't. The Capitol still rules over us, and plenty of people die of starvation, because of the Capitol, but it's all okay, because of the deal the Districts made with the Capitol. So, every year, two children between the age of 12 and 18 from each district, so in other words, 24 children. So, anyway, these kids are Picked randomly from a ball. Each child, for the Race, gets turned into an animal of some sort, depending on their personality. Then, they must Race to the finish. At the finish, there is a great festivity, for the person who arrives. Everyone wins, but the party is the grandest for the teen in first place. The winner gets a lifetime supply of anything they might want. It's very exciting. There are obstacles along the way, of course._

_"The richest people have the best chance of getting Picked, because they can afford the money to buy more Apples (the special Picking kind), and get their names in more. So, as we are gathered here for another Apple Picking, let's introduce, Harvey Abaraham, District 12's only winner!"_

The crowd went wild. I clapped and screamed with them as Harvey Abraham staggered on stage, drunk from beer.

"HAAAAAALLLLLLLLLOOOOOO!" he belches. I scream and cheer with everyone else. "Today...we are here...TO RIP OFF ETHEL'S TANKTOP! WAHAHAHAHA!" I scream and cheer with everyone else. "WHO'S READY TO WHIP SOME BUTT TODAAAAAAY?" I scream and cheer with everyone else. "But fiiiiiiirst, you gotta leeeeeave." I scream and cheer with nobody else. Oops. I always fall for this one.

"Anyway," an annoyed Ethel Tanktop comes on. Ethel is a really smart, sophisticated philosopher that everyone likes. Almost everyone. I know I like her but most of the others don't. I wonder why. "Look, we're here to admire my awesome beautyness and my glasses, everyone who objects needs to leave." A few people motioned to get up. Ethel looked shocked. "N-no! I was kidding. Let us start Apple Picking, shall we?"

"Είμαι το πιο εκπληκτικό φιλόσοφος σε ολόκληρο τον κόσμο και θα πρέπει να υποκλίνονται μπροστά μου. Δεν είναι η ελληνική καλή μου?" Ethel babbled in Greek. Nobody understood a word but everyone politely boo'ed.

"Beginning with...the he-she man-lady mixes, shall we?" Ethel peeps. I laugh at her joke but everyone is dead silent. Whatever, I laugh anyway.

"I'm just kidding, everyone, we'll start with the boys like always, okay?" Her hand flumbles around in the bowl, and it clunks against the metal wall and the apples with the carved names.

She picks one apple delicately by the stem and reads it out loud. "Hurgistun Bublebee." She wrinkles her nose. "What a weird name." A very excited boy pops out of the crowd and grins widely. His teeth are covered with braces. I gag. He strides up to the red carpet and is about to take one step before...

"I volunteer as a Tribute!" Oh no. The war was going to begin. Now that the first one has been called out, there would be way more.

There is an awkward moment before... "I volunteer!" I see two burly boys about to go onto the carpet before.

"I volu-"

"I volun-"

"NO! I vo-"

"Volunteering will b-"

"HEY! I'LL VOLUNTEE-"

"STOOOOOOP! _I'll_ volunteer." Who is it? No one made a sound as a ridiculously short, white-haired boy slowly made his way up to the podium. "I am Ta Pee Mallchop and I am District 12's Tribute." There was a silence, and then a burst of "aww"s and "dang it!"s spread through the crowd. Night Gale was one of them.

"I volunteered too?" he growled. I patted him gently on the back. He bit me. Ow.

This is how volunteering works: The last one to volunteer and stop the crowd is the one who gets to go. Simple, but very, very hard. I've tried before and trust me, it almost never works. Also, if the Picked one gets to the podium before any stoppers, he becomes a Tribute.

"Now for the pretty darlings," Ethel said. Her hand smashed into several apples as she swished around in the bowl. Then she took one out and took a bite out of it. "Oops, I guess I was just to drawn into the pheromones of the apple. Anyhoo, let us observe the name on it...Oops, I guess I just bit of the whole first name. Lemme see... 'Vanillabean'. Huh. Interesting." My eyes widened. _My_ last name was Vanillabean.

"I'm a Vanillabean!" I hear myself and Ivy call out in the same time. And I also hear my mother calling out but she was too old.

"Hmm...Since I find older people more trustworthy...How about the middle-aged lady over there?" Ethel points in the direction of my mother and i scowl. I can hear Ivy tearing apart someone next to her.

"Oohh," my mother says. She stands up from her standing position and smiles brightly. I hear her teeth can glow in the night. But Ivy and I don't dare to look at her teeth. Ick.

"How old are you, Miss?" Ethel asks. My mother blushes.

"Oh, I'm actually married with two kids...I'm 17163235653678910823765 years old..." Mom blushes again as she warbles.

"HAHAHAHAHA! YOU'RE TOO OLD TO BE IN THE RACE! WAHAHAHAHAHA! NOW I WILL CHOOSE ONE OF YOUR DAUGHTERS!" Ethel cackled. I gulped. The sisters = me and Ivy.

Which begs the question, will there be any pudding at the Biasesness Ziggurat?

END OF CHAPTER

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**AND THAT IS THE END OF THE CHAP-TAH! *Beethoven's 5th Symphony Plays* Cliff-hanger. XP Let's see who gets to be Picked~! Obviously you're thinking that Kandy is going to get picked 'cause she's the main character...But who knows? Maybe Ivy will get Picked and then Kandy volunteers. Kandy might _not_ get Picked. **

**Review, review!  
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